Common-Time Waltz
by bikelock28
Summary: Tag for 6.02 Day Of The Moon. The Doctor unintentionally leaves River in a very cruel way at the end of that episode. He attempts to make up for it. Canon-compliant.


**That first/last kiss scene at the end of _Day Of The Moon_ is brilliant. Quiet, sweet and very very sad. I think it's one of the best scenes Matt ever did as 11. Anyway, it ends so heartbreakingly for River, and I wondered if the Doctor did anything about that...**

 **Set directly after the end of 6.02 _Day Of The Moon._**

Common-Time Waltz

You weren't expecting it, okay? You just weren't ready. There you were, saying goodbye to her, trying to figure her out for about the thousandth time, and BAM- her mouth was on yours, her hands on your shoulders. It had been nice, truly it had, but it took you by surprise and you panicked. Surprise and confusion blurred your senses so you're not sure what you did, but you suspect it involved squirming, blushing and being appalling at kissing her back. And then- God, if you hadn't ruined it enough by being a terrible kisser, you'd said the worst possible thing afterwards. _First time for everything. First time for everything._ Idiot boy. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You _know,_ you know every time you've seen her that you're moving in opposite directions, that her past is your future and vice versa. And you told her that that was your first kiss. You told her that that was her last kiss. Her face had shattered; all her smug sauciness was gone in an instant.

"We _haven't?"_

You'd gabbled, made excuses and ran. You've always been a runner.

You pop to Hunmanby with the Ponds for pies, who go to bed not long after. Amy gives you a lingering hug goodnight and strokes your cheek with her thumb.

"Goodnight, Raggedy Man," she says quietly.

"Night, Amelia Pond,"

Afterwards, you mooch about the TARDIS control room, pondering (haha. _Pond_ ering) Amy's pregnancy, and stewing over River Song. Or, more accurately, over yourself and River Song. That kiss. You stalk round the console grumpily, blaming everybody. _It's River's fault, this. If she could just_ tell me who she is, _then I'd_ know _how to- I'd know how I'm supposed to act around her. I'd know that she's meant to kiss me! She didn't have to spring it on me like some sort of...kissing tiger!_ (Hang on, wasn't that Amy's old job? Something like that anyway, it involved orangeness and kissing and being uncomfortably threatening). So who is River Song? Who is she really? She's confirmed now that you and her have a...(you grimace) romantic relationship at some point. You'd suspected that since the Library when she called you prettyboy and Donna scoffed at the call for help signed with a kiss. Everything since then- the cracks about kisses and handcuffs, that time she said yes when you may or may not have asked her to marry you- has been pointing in that direction. She talks to you in such an unusual way; commanding, exasperated, affectionate. And the flirting, oh dear God the flirting. You reckon you're getting better at it. It's...well, it's exciting, truth be told. People generally don't flirt with you, not this version anyway. Well, Amy did to begin with but Amy flirts with everyone and besides, she's married now. That hasn't stopped her flirting but it's confirmed that the flirting doesn't mean anything. Whereas with River you have an inkling that it _is_ going somewhere, or at least that she wants it to. You aren't sure if you do. It's fun, it's _flattering_. You like being paid attention to, you like a challenge, you like a laugh. And you can't believe that this risk-taking, rule-breaking, gun-toting, gigantic-haired madwoman in the tightest of prisons and the highest of heels has any interest in flirting with you; a bow-legged, pigeon-toed, Disney villain-faced nomad who's over nine hundred but barely looks old enough to shave. But does that mean you, err, want the flirting to, umm, go where it seems to be pointing? You're fascinated by River you're fired by her- perhaps you'll admit to, you know, maybe...fancying her a little bit (you grimace again. _Fancy_. Stupid, childish word, like it's 1998 and she's Britney Spears). But there's a different between fancying someone and flirting with them, and wanting to be, you know...umm, romantic, umm, intimate with them. There's a different, isn't there? Or are you making excuses. _Do_ you want that?

You're going to kiss her again. More than once, since she implied that there's a point when you always kiss her goodbye. You've played with love before and it ends in disaster, it always does. Everybody gets hurt when you fall in love.

You lean on the TARDIS console, gazing at nothing, unsure how you feel. Miserable, then angry, then confused, then nervous. River makes you feel nervous a lot. How can you _not_ feel nervous when she marches in, all lasers and teases and "Hello sweetie"? And _God_ , the way she looks at you. Dr River Song looks at you like you're covered in syrup and she wants to tie you up while she licks it off. You shiver at the thought, although what exactly it's a shiver _of_ you're not sure (and you don't think you want to find out). It makes you feel threatened, it makes you feel confused, it makes it feel like you want her to stop looking at you that way and it makes you feel like all you want forever is for her to keep looking at you that way.

Your previous self would be good at this. Mr Pinstripes, Mr Hair-gel, Mr My-Face-Has-More-Angles-Than-A-Hendecagon-But-You-Still-Think-I'm-Pretty. Much as he pretended he didn't understand things like that, girls were always falling in love with him. Women he'd barely met would yank him in for a snog and he'd look discombobulated but come up with some clever line or charming wink. You need Mr Prettyboy's advice now, but he isn't here to give it. Where he is, is in you. If you want to know what to do, you've got to channel him.

 _Go get the girl, kiddo! Jump a horse through a mirror, burn up a sun to say goodbye. You want to fix this, you go do it!_

Okay. Okay you can do this. You've got to do it. You owe it to her. Come on, Doctor. You're the Oncoming Storm, you can face apologising to a woman...even River Song.

You yank the TARDIS levers determinedly, keeping tight hold on them as you fly. You land, revving the engines to make the _vworp_ noise as loud as possible, handbrakes be damned! You check the date on the scanner, straighten your bow tie, and march outside.

River is on her bed, a book you recognise as her diary in front of her. She's kneeling up, having heard the engines.

"Doctor?" she demands, getting to her feet and coming over to the cell bars, "Doctor, what happened, is everything alright?". Alert, ready for action. You love that about her.

"Everything's fine," you murmur. Now that you're here you're starting to feel twitchy. What are you supposed to...do?

"Doctor," River breathes, halfway to a question. Now that you're close to the bars you can see tear-stains on her face. You did that. That's your fault.

"I'm sorry," you mutter, "I promise there's nothing wrong". _Come on, boy,_ do _something._ You grit your teeth, sonic the cell door open and slip inside. "I only...I-"

Pinstripes would come up with a clever line but you're drawing a blank. None of his little cute quirks; zinger, no eyebrow wriggle, no puppy-dog eyes.

All you can do is kiss her.

So you do.

It's easier when you know that it's going to happen. Initiating, you think that's called, although that makes it sound like operating a tractor, not kissing a woman. You can work out where to put your hands now; on her waist, your fingers touching her back. You press your mouth gently to hers. The closeness of faces, the texture of her lips, the new way you have to breath while your mouth is otherwise occupied. These things were all weird and nerve-wracking when she kissed you before, but now you're prepared for it they're okay. Pleasant, actually. You aren't sure what you're supposed to be doing with your mouth but River takes control, moving her lips slightly, changing the pressure. She leans into you so that her knees are brushing your shins and her chest is pressed against yours. She's squashy and comfortable. You let one of your hands drift up from her waist to her ribs. River tilts her head and ooh, new angle. You open your mouth a little, trying to imitate what she's doing with hers. Her tongue flicks you bottom lip, and then it's pushing into your mouth. You freeze for a moment, and you have to stop yourself yelping. _It's okay, it's okay. It's only a tongue. It's only River. It's kissing River. I like that, see?_ Her tongue swirls around yours and it's bizarre, so bizarre. You have no idea how to respond. You vaguely remember something you heard on Amy's TV about reciting the alphabet while kissing. No, that's daft, you're not doing that. You let River invade your mouth with her tongue for a few moments until, thankfully, she withdraws her tongue and goes back to moving her mouth against yours. _Phew,_ you can't help but think to yourself, _no, don't think phew, you moron. Kiss her. Enjoy kissing her._ She's certainly enjoying it, she's burrowed herself close to you, rocking her hips against you gently, letting out little moans into your mouth. Bravely, you tighten your grip on her waist, and let your other hand wander into her hair. You've never touched her hair before (surprising, seeing as it's endless) and it's softer than you expected. You squash her curls against the back of her head. You sieve your fingers through the ringlets. Both feel satisfying, and River must agree because she growls and sucks your bottom lip. Her teeth grind on your skin ever so slightly. You squirm, although not from awkwardness like last time. You'd like to put your teeth on _her_ lips. Is kissing about waiting or winning? River's hands drift down your lapels and under your jacket so she's touching you through your shirt. They sneak up your back until she's hanging on to your shoulder-blades. If it was any other woman you might say that she was clinging to you. She's still rocking her hips against you and you notice that, somehow without realising it, you've wedged your leg between hers. _How curious,_ you notice. You could hardly be closer together now, bones on bones from your shins to your skulls. Kissing. And kissing. And you're enjoying it! Your hearts are pounding, your blood is thrumming in your ears, you're making strange guttural noises without meaning to. River's controlling the pressure and the pace of the kiss and- oh God- her hand has somehow slipped itself into your back pocket. She's squeezing your bum, keeping you clamped against her while she snogs you and you snog her back, dazed and giddy and enjoying the growl in your stomach which has nothing to do with Jammy Dodgers.

Eventually, River drags her mouth away. "Doctor" she breathes. A hungry, rasping sound. The feeling of somebody else's breath on this face is a new one. Your eyes flicker open blearily.

"River," you murmur back, although it comes out like a groan. _Rrrri-V-errrrrr._ Your voice is an octave lower than usual, and you're panting. River wriggles against you and you make an unintentional, gruff noise in your throat. Somewhere through the haze your brain reminds you that you came here again because you left in the wrong way before. "I'm, err, sorry," you mumble, still blurry, "I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting...the first time...and I panicked,"

"I hate you,"

"No you don't,"

"No I don't," she whispers. River's never said that before. You aren't sure what to say back. As the fog clears from your mind, it occurs to you that you've hardly ever been alone with her before. Usually there's Amy and Rory, or a crowd of baddies or party guests present. The way you and River speak to each other is a game, a dance, a performance for your audience. There's no audience here. What are the rules? How do you talk to her when there's no one there to listen, to impress? What is flirting like when it's just you and her? What is River's suggestiveness like when there's no reason to be vague?

Thankfully, she kisses you again before you have to think of a comeback. This time the kiss is quick and wet and she stamps it on your mouth.

"Doctor," she says again, slowly, voice low, though in a serious way as appose to the usual sexy, husky lowness, "Could you...stay?"

Her hands drift down your lapels and the front of your jacket, touching you lightly through the fabric. She takes your hands. Again, you're not sure she's done that before, something so simple and innocent. You could almost snort with laughter because 'innocent' is not a word you'd ever associate with Dr River Song. (Especially after that kiss...).

You grip her hands back firmly. "Of course I can stay,"

River gives you one of those small, loving smiles which she hands out so rarely, and (your lungs do something odd at this thought), you reckon, only to you. Then the smile moulds a you're-a-chocolate-bunny-and-I-want-to-eat-you-alive smirk. "Doctor," she purrs again, happy, hungry. She runs her palms up and down your chest, twangs your brace, dives for your shirt buttons.

 _Oh. Oh, that kind of 'stay'. Oh. Oops. Oh no._ You suddenly feel very hot. "Oh, um," you force out, agitated, "I didn't...sorry, I'm sorry, do you mind if we, if we don't...you see for me in this body I've never..." you gesture abstractly towards the bed, blushing scarlet. River's face remains impassive. "I've not, um, you know, done that sort of...thing and, and...the kissing's really nice but, ah, could...could we just leave it at that? Just kissing? I don't, I'm not-" you gabble, "I'm sorry, River I'm sorry,"

"Sweetie," she says patiently, "It's alright. We don't have to. You've got all that to come, so to speak,"

You can't help but breathe a sigh of relief. River grins then lets you go and turns away quickly before you can read anything else in her expression. Have you screwed up again? Just when you thought you'd made it up to her you turned her down again.

"River, I'm sorry,"

"It's fine," she says too quickly, busying herself putting her diary away and pretending to look for something in her cabinet. You watch her dejectedly. _I'm not the man you want me to be._

"I'll sleep here though," you fish.

"Okay," River answers shortly. A few seconds later she finally surfaces from the cabinet, gives you a very brief glance, and climbs into bed. You don't move for a few long seconds, feeling rather conspicuous. River rolls her eyes and flicks her head at you, beckoning.

"Come on then," she says.

"Oh, right. Yeah". River can make you angry, she can make you dazed and amazed, she can make you growly and tight...and she can make you feel like a ten-year-old whose been left alone with his big sister's friend. You take your shoes off, hang your jacket on one of the empty pegs and fumble your braces off your shoulders. Then, hesitantly, climb under the covers with her. River tosses the duvet over you and you wriggle, trying to get comfortable. It's a difficult ask because the bed's only a single, and you're all knees and elbows and clown-size feet.

"Sweetie, you're kicking me," River points out impatiently.

"No I'm not, I'm trying _not_ to kick you," you protest, grateful that she's chosen to bicker with you. Squabbling with each other is easy. You're used to it so it's much easier to do than think about the fact that you are _in bed with a River Song. "_ My feet are like flippers,"

"Oh, I know how big your feet are. What is it they say about big feet?" she asks, all naughtiness and growl. You break eye contact quickly, having a sudden strong desire to loosen your bow tie. River laughs. It's a throaty, smug sound, different to Amy's still childlike giggle or Rory's guffaws. "But that's another spoiler,"

"This bed is too small," you grumble.

"Well, I'm not supposed to have visitors,"

"But you do," you point out.

"Oh, every night," she purrs.

You're bemused as it if she means future versions of you, or, umm, anybody else. You decide not to ask, and changing the subject by elbowing her in the back.

"Ow!"

"Sorry,"

"Honestly, it's like sleeping beside a hat-stand," she sighs.

"River?"

"Mmm?"

You pause nervously for a moment, then ask carefully, "...Do I get better at this?"

"Spoil-"

"I know I know, spoilers. Just answer me this one, okay?"

There's another pause. Then she answers seriously, "Yes. Yes you get better,"

River kisses you again, tenderly, on the mouth, then suckers her lips across your cheek, your jaw, down your neck. It feels wet, like a...a squid or something on your skin, but a nice squid, a squid which makes you sigh happily. Masses of corkscrew curls waft into your face and you burrow your face into them, all the discomfort of the cramped bed forgotten. In books the hero notices what the girl's hair smells like. Thank God you're no hero because you don't know how to describe the smell of River's. Besides, the texture's better than the smell, it's soft and thick and tickly and there's so much of it. You plunge your face in further to plant a kiss on her head. A couple of ringlets go up your nose and you giggle. River's tongue is lapping the side of your Adam's apple; it makes you want to tilt your head to trap hers in the crook of your neck. She mumbles something you don't hear, and slides her hands up your ribcage to circle your nipples through your shirt. You open your eyes momentarily in surprise (all you can see is her hair), then relax into her touch. Nobody's touched you like this in a long time.

Abruptly, River suckers her mouth from your neck and rolls away from you. You're not prepared for the sudden loss of contact, and your mouth searches for hers.

"Oh sweetie, still so easy," she murmurs.

"Mmm?" you manage, dazed. River fixes you with an evil smirk and holds up your bow tie.

"Hey! Give that back," you demand, suddenly affronted, "How did you do that?"

River snaps her teeth at you. "The things I've done to you with your bow ties," she teases theatrically.

"Give it back,"

River rolls her eyes in reply. River folds the tie and slips it into your breast pocket, taking care to trail her fingers over your chest as she does so. As she does, something in the mood of the moment changes from flirtatious to tender. These things happen sometimes and you've never been able to work it out, but you can feel it now, as River touches her hand to your collar momentarily and beams at you lovingly. You feel yourself smile back. After a long moment of looking at each other, River shifts position, moving further down the bed so that her head's on your chest. That's odd- you don't often think of yourself as being bigger than her. It's a position you associate with protectiveness, and River Song is the last person in the universe in need of protection. _Stop overthinking, Doctor, it's only lying down. She's just trying to sleep, it doesn't mean anything. Are you sure? Yes, I'm sure. It's sleep, nothing's personal when it comes to sleep. I wonder if she can hear my heartbeats. They're faster than usual._

"So what do you do here, then? What's the activity in Stormcage?" you ask, because not talking leaves you alone with your internal monologue, which at the moment is chattering for England.

"Read, mostly. And write. I can't attend university officially, but I can plan my next doctorate, get the background research done. I teach a bit, help the Ood with learning to read, the Grask work on their degree applications. And I'm on cleaning duty every morning,"

"Cleaning duty?" you splutter. As if River Song spends her days mopping floors and scrubbing sinks?

"Yes," she replies in a we-are-not-discussing-this way.

"Oh. Well. I suppose I'm a similar sort of thing, the universe's caretaker," you say bracingly.

"Honey, you're the universe's chief nuisance,"

"Still love me though," you boast, puffing your chest out. Then you catch yourself- _Oh God. Oh God, why did I say that? Now it's only going to be awkward, what's she going to say, what am I going to say back? Does she, do I, are either of us going to admit it? Stupid Doctor._

"The universe's gremlin, how does that sound?" River continues coolly. With her face in your chest you can't see her expression.

"I prefer housekeeper,"

 _"_ You can barely keep your own house, which is saying something considering your house is a phone box,"

"Phone boxes are cool," you assert, looking over the top of River's head to beam warmly at the TARDIS.

"You know you could fix the chameleon circuit if you-"

"La la la la la, I can't hear you,"

"Never mind. I'll do it in the morning," she assures you.

"You most certainly will not,"

"Doctor," she says.

"Hmm?" you ask.

"Shut up."

* * *

When River is awoken by her alarm at five-thirty the next morning, the bed beside her is empty. The jacket is gone from the pegs, and the phone box is gone. River is momentarily torn between anger- _how dare he leave without saying goodbye!? Bastard-_ and acceptance- _what did you expect? He never sticks around for long-_ when she notices a note in TARDIS-blue paper left of the pillow. She grabs it, steadies herself, and opens it.

 _River-_

 _It was nice. Popping off now. See you next time._

 _Sorry._

 _The Doctor xxxxxxxxxxx_

It's the 'sorry' that undoes her. This version of him doesn't apologise often, so for him to do to in writing, on a note he must know that she'll keep, shows that he really must mean it. Sorry. Sorry for not making love to her (she'd tried not to let him see how much it hurt her when he asked if it was okay if they didn't. She didn't want him to feel uncomfortable or guilty about it, and she certainly didn't want him to feel like he had to do it. Of course she'd wanted him to, but if he didn't she wasn't going to put pressure on him. The Doctor hadn't turned her down as such, but it stung that he didn't want to be intimate with her. It aches that she'll never be like that with him again, never peal his clothes off, never feel his clumsy hands on her body. She'll never again cuddle up to the Doctor, nude, spent and glowing while they catch their breath and giggle). Sorry that she's the reason she's in prison (he doesn't know that yet, but River's sure that he's clever enough to have an inkling). Sorry that he's not quite the man she fell in love with (he's getting there. He's shaping into the man she loves; she sees streaks of that man in him, especially last night. He just isn't cooked through yet). Sorry that now she has, definitely, officially kissed him for the last time. Forget sex- she's never even going to kiss him again. So many kisses with that man- she killed him with one (her first), brought him back with another (her second), kissed him as she married him while the universe disintegrated around them. Kisses at Montgomery Island, Asgard, Raxacoricofallapatorius, the World Cup Final 1982. Kisses on the TARDIS, on the beach, in forests, in restaurants, while running from Zygons. And now no more, ever. River wipes a tear from her eye. No more. Perhaps it's better this way, she reasons. She doesn't recall how many times she kissed him last night, she can't remember which was their last kiss. Perhaps that's why he came back; so her last kiss with him wouldn't be him squirming and flapping and leaving her alone in her cell. Yes, now when she thinks of their last kiss, at least she'll think of last night; lots of kisses, bickering, snipping at each other, cuddling. Her precious boy, just growing into that wonderful man, he gave her a whole night.

And then he left without saying goodbye. He left so he didn't have to see her tears. River's tears come anyway, spilling onto the note and blurring his handwriting.

"Inmate 281082! Don't stand there dawdling! Get dressed!"

"Yes, sir," River answers. Usually she'd answer back to the guards, flirt at them, but she's too busy smudging her tears away. She folds the note into her pocket and pulls herself together. _He gave you a whole night but he fact is he's gone now. Gone._ Run off, like a thief in the night. He doesn't like endings, after all.

"Inmate! Stop moping and start moving! Those sinks won't scrub themselves!"

And he can't bear to see the damage.

 **Fin.**

 **Thank you for reading. Have a nice day, and please review to let me know what you thought.**


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